


The Boy I Knew

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: The pressure to be exemplary weighed heavily upon Aphelios. He practiced tirelessly with mystical moonstone blades, spilling his own blood in training so he could spill that of others to protect the faith. Intense and vulnerable, he bonded deeply with his sister in lieu of any other friendships.Alune thinks back on growing up with Aphelios - comparing the boy she knew then with the man her brother is now.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Boy I Knew

Alune had always known. It didn’t matter what she was supposed to know, or whether she was even allowed to know it, but she knew nevertheless. She’d never been without her brief glimpses of insight, from seconds to years from now, and couldn’t imagine a life without them constantly flickering through her surface thoughts. It was that innate ability the Elders liked to go on about since they deemed her old enough to listen. The one that marked her out as strange even amongst such secretive people as the Lunari. The one that always drove a wedge between her and the ‘normal children’, as they and the adults liked to call them. Since she’d been old enough to talk Alune had unnerved the adults- too wise, too intelligent for her years. Yet, without that wisdom she knew she wouldn’t have fared so well as she had. Even as a child she had understood what it meant to fear the unknown. To them, she was unknown, though they saw her every day. They grew anxious when thinking about what she might be capable of. What the Moon had given her and why. Understanding that their fear was baseless, and that they would change their minds with experience, Alune had never shied away from others. If they were truly afraid of the unknown then they would simply have to get to know her better. So she mingled and she talked, mostly with adults even as a child, and over time they came around. The Moon had blessed Alune with knowledge but it was her own perseverance with that pulled her through. And in the moments where it hadn’t? In the early days when it seemed there was an invisible wall between her and the rest of the world? Well, at least she wasn’t alone back there.

Aphelios had not been blessed with the insight she had. It was hard for him to remember that the other children simply didn’t understand them - and that their insults were therefore meaningless. Aphelios never had the boldness she did - could never walk up to anyone and simply ask for help. He never initiated conversation, unless with her, and otherwise only spoke when spoken to. His training taught him to second guess everything, to be constantly wary and alert for hidden dangers. This resulted in a quiet anxious little boy who looked for a threat in every person he’d meet. Alune had heard from others that this made her brother come off as lofty and uncaring, when in fact it had been quite the opposite. Aphelios felt too intensely. Or at least he had during their childhood. He was so wrapped up in meeting the adults’ expectations, in memorising everything that was told to him, that he couldn’t differentiate feedback from lies, advice from plain bullying. When he was very young, he couldn’t understand why people would say such hurtful things to Alune or himself. Alune tried to reassure him, convince him of their harmlessness, but to Aphelios, those words bruised as much as his training batons. He could not stand passively by whilst he or Alune became targets of childish torment. Not when he so adamantly wore his heart upon his sleeves. What the other children often forgot that was there was also considerable strength concealed in those sleeves. Something they would sometimes learn to their cost.

Alune remembered being eleven years old and attending evening prayers with the adults. Usually, whilst the adults were occupied, the children would be gathered together for one of Grandmother Yulia’s stories. Despite getting the impression that Yulia wasn’t actually anyone’s grandmother, Alune always hastened away as soon as prayers were done to join the other children around the fireside. Grandmother Yulia told tales of the old times, long before the Lunari were driven into the darkness. She told tales of Lunari heroes, ferocious dragons, and creatures that played amongst the stars. Most of her stories were utterly fictious of course, simple delights to inspire sleepy youngsters, but Alune saw the shreds of truth between the fantasy. However you didn’t come to see Grandmother Yulia to study. You came and listened for your bedtime story, before whatever adult you had responsible for you came and shepherded you into bed. Of course, she and Aphelios didn’t have a fussing adult. Though they were very good at taking themselves to bed by now. On one particular night, Alune hurried back from the temple proper, and towards the little courtyard where she knew Grandmother Yulia would be weaving one of her stories. She expected to find Aphelios there. Curled up and leant against one of the crumbled pillars, several feet away from the other children but still listening intently. However, he wasn’t there. In fact a few of the children were missing. Grandmother Yulia stopped when Alune approached, blinking up at her as if awoken from a reverie. Asking where her brother was, Alune was pointed back in the direction of the living area. Aphelios had gone back to their tent.

What was considered the living space of this settlement consisted of dozens of tents, all spread across a wide cavernous room outside the deep mountain temple. The area was split into three by a pair of quick flowing streams, bubbling up from the water’s source deep below Mount Targon. Lunari settlements, what few there were left, were designed to be packed up quickly and moved. Or, if the situation demanded it, easily abandoned and rebuilt elsewhere. These tents had likely been here for decades now, passed on from generation to generation, but they were still temporary structures. The central area of the cavern, bordered by the streams, was communal ground. It was where activities like cooking, laundry and crafting took place. Most of the fires stood there, the smoke funnelled high up the mountain to a natural vent obscured from the Solari settlements below. The Lunari ate together, hunters and traders providing the central kitchens with the supplies needed to feed the whole tribe. The leftmost and rightmost areas were reserved for living quarters only. Families usually lived in one large tent together, though some extended to two, even three depending on their number of offspring. Alune had once been told that her and Aphelios’ tent had belonged to their parents. However, nothing of those people remained in the little construct of wood poles and canvas. You might have expected a few personal effects, perhaps a cherished memento or two, but no. By the time the twins had become old enough to search for such things, no trace of their parents remained. No one had ever told them who their parents were, what they were like, and after a while, they had both come to accept that this information was something they couldn’t have. Needless to say it was their tent now. Decorated with amateur attempts at arts and crafts, from lessons before they were given their singular purposes. Mobiles of sticks, feathers and interestingly shaped rocks hung from the tent posts. A painting that might have been a goat, or a bear, or a dragon, was nailed above the entrance way. Throughout their teenage years, they would accuse the other of creating that monstrosity, but never once did it get taken down.

As they both trained in the temple, their tent was mostly there for rest. Their blankets were old but well-made, draped over a shared straw mattress large enough to serve two adults. It was there, on their bed, that Alune found Aphelios that night. He was curled up in his blanket, gently wrapping bandages around his bruised and calloused hands. Alune immediately sat down and took over, helping him cushion the blisters on his fingers that would get no reprieve from bladework tomorrow.

“Didn’t you want to listen to Grandma Yulia’s story?” she asked as she carefully secured the linen wraps.

“I did,” Aphelios replied quietly, “But I had to go.”

He didn’t sound like he wanted to go. As Alune finished with his hands, she noticed that there was blood up the sleeve of his tunic. The grey fabric wasn’t without its share of old stains, but the bright crimson flecks were undoubtedly fresh. Back in those days, the sight of fresh blood on her brother still alarmed Alune. She instantly sought for another injury, beside the worn nature of her brother’s hands, and found none.

“It’s not mine,” Aphelios told her. Reaching back, he pulled his hair out of its ponytail, a small curtain of black hair tumbling around his shoulders ready for bed.

“Whose is it?” Alune asked, worry mounting as she realised why he might have had to leave the story circle early, “What happened Phel?”

Aphelios looked at the blankets and then back up at her. It was rare of him to hesitate when they were alone together. He evidently felt like he’d done something wrong.

“Tell me what happened,” she insisted, keeping her tone gentle so to coax a few more details out of her brother. She picked up her own blanket and sat next to him on their bed. As she put an arm round him, he immediately went to rest his head on her shoulder. A position they so often found themselves in once upon a time.

“It’s Gyan’s,” Aphelios murmured after a brief pause for them to get comfy.

Gyan was a boy five years their elder. He should be working amongst the adults now – sixteen way past the age that he should have picked a purpose and a craft. However Gyan had an anti-authority streak that meant none of the craftsmen wanted him as an apprentice and none of the trainers wanted him as a recruit. Men like that often ended up hunters but Gyan was still clinging onto the illusion of childhood for now. How he did it, Alune could only guess. He was well on his way to manhood, towering above their eleven-year-old selves with broad shoulders as wide as a tent flap. He ate like he was constantly starving and boasted of his skill at everything to anyone who’d listen. This was not the first time Aphelios had a run in with him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“What did he do?” Alune asked. Aphelios swallowed heavily as he mustered the nerve to say:

“When I arrived for story-time, Gyan and his friends were already there. They saw me and they… they started talking about us. About both of us. About how we’re weird and maybe we’re not even humans but some sort of freaks created by the moon. Even when Grandmother Yulia started talking, he wouldn’t shut up. I tried to ignore him like you said but…”

Aphelios gave a little shudder.

“But then he started tossing little stones at me and then pretending he did nothing. And then his friends joined in. And then he made some comment about you that…that was really rude and…”

Alune didn’t have to imagine what sort of comment Gyan had made about her. She’d heard enough of them.

“What did you do?” she asked. Aphelios had become better at brushing off insults directed at him. However Gyan must have crossed the line by daring to insult her in front her brother.

“I asked him to stop,” Aphelios began, “Nicely, I tried.”

“It’s good that you tried,” Alune praised him.

“But he didn’t,” Aphelios continued, “So I told him what you told me. That he’s just making a show out of insulting me because he’s hiding his own insecurities at the fact none of the adults like him or want him.”

Ah, she’d thought, that had doubtlessly escalated matters.

“Then the other children laughed at him,” Aphelios explained, “And he said he’d kill me and you next.”

Yes, definitely escalated.

“I told him he wouldn’t be able to get past me,” Aphelios stated, a little pride surging up in his voice, “And I was right.”

If anyone has asked her before this fight had happened, Alune would bet all the money she didn’t have on Aphelios. Gyan was big and could rely on brute force. However Aphelios had been training since he’d first been able to walk. The unnatural strength and dexterity the moon had blessed him with had long been honed into a deadly weapon. There was no contest and Gyan was an idiot for even trying.

“What state is he in?” Alune asked.

Aphelios squirmed a little in his blanket.

“His nose is broken and it bled everywhere,” he told her.

Alright that wasn’t too bad. Noses could mend.

“And I think I bruised some of his ribs,” Aphelios carried on after a slight pause.

Ouch, but once again, herbs and bedrest could sort that out.

However Aphelios wasn’t done:

“And I broke his arm in three places and the bone stuck out.”

Ah.

“Oh Phel,” she sighed, “Please remember your strength Brother.”

“H-He was trying to kill me,” Aphelios told her, “And he wanted to kill you too.”

“I know,” Alune replied, “But…if you don’t watch what you do, you’re going to get in really big trouble. You need to learn how much force to use when, like your teachers said, so people don’t get hurt too much.”

Aphelios’ eyes widened at her words. She immediately realised he’d taken it as a scolding and was feeling miserable.

“He…he didn’t stop when I-I hit him in the nose,” Aphelios said tremulously, “Or when I kicked him in the chest. He just… kept going. So I just kept going. After he finally went down, all…all the other children stared at us and… one of them started screaming. There was crying and… they started agreeing with Gyan had said about me.”

He was starting to tear up, his voice choking as he asked:

“Alune…are we monsters?”

Alune wrapped her arms around him and held him close, even as he sobbed:

“I-I think we might be freaks like-like they said!”

“No!” she exclaimed, “No, we’re not! The moon gifted us for a reason and they just don’t understand that. Mother Moon gave us these abilities for a reason we…we just don’t know what they are yet! But they’ll see! They’ll all see how useful and amazing we are once we find our orbits. We just have to grow up a bit first!”

“But-But,” Aphelios sobbed.

“No buts,” Alune insisted, “When we know what these powers are for, we’re going to be such a big help to the Lunari, just like the Elders say. You and me, together, we might even be heroes like in Grandma’s stories!”

Aphelios sniffled into her shoulder as she held him tight.

“Alune?” he murmured.

“Yes Phel?”

There was a moment of quiet except for his sniffles.

“I…I almost killed him; Gyan I mean.”

Alune wasn’t sure what to say to that because it was true, he could very easily have killed that boy. Gyan’s arm never fully recovered from being broken that badly.

“I-I keep thinking…what if I did?” Aphelios confessed, “I…don’t ever want to kill anyone.”

Even at eleven years old, Alune couldn’t give him a good answer to that. She knew even then that Aphelios was being trained not just as a soldier, but as an assassin. A deadly weapon for the Lunari, whose very purpose was going to be to kill. She told him it was going to be all right. She told him that all they had to do was keep faith and the moon would lead them onto their rightful orbits. Aphelios fell asleep in her arms, cheeks stained with tears and eyes puffy from crying.

Alune remembered when Aphelios returned after taking his first life. He was fifteen, younger even than Gyan at that fateful story circle. He threw up his dinner before going to bed and didn’t wake up for fourteen hours. Over time he came to see that killing Solari was a necessary act, one death to save the lives of many. Yet whenever he had to slay someone who didn’t deem him a heretic – an opportunistic bandit, a thieving pilgrim, or a double-crossing merchant, Alune could see the pain and regret in his eyes. Until the Noctum. Aphelios was so expressive until the Noctum. Though she did not wish sadness upon him, Alune missed the ability to wipe tears from his cheeks. She missed the chances to pull him close, to hold him, to comfort him, when the weight of his duties became too much. When he drowned his emotions in poison, no expression ran across his features, no emotion betrayed itself in his eyes. He was a shell of his old self, his heart buried deep, so deep that it was sometimes hard to believe that this was her brother. This was the same boy who laughed and cried and played with her for so many years. This was the same Phel who could smile and tell jokes within the safety of their little tent. 

It was under the influence of Noctum that Aphelios had sliced off his hair. Alune had never admitted to being as affected by this as she was. But sitting together, in the sanctity of their own space, just brushing or plaiting each other’s hair, had been almost a sacred ritual between them. It had been their thing, ever since they were old enough to use a comb. Aphelios kept his hair up in a plait or a ponytail for work or training, but even as he approached adulthood, they still shared their childish pursuit. That was until one day he came back with his ponytail lopped off by one of his own moonstone blades. A Solari soldier had tried to grab him by it and he’d realised that his long hair was a hindrance. Alune neatened up his hair for him, trying to ignore how sad the sight of his chopped off bangs made her. Yet even that wasn’t an option anymore, not with the barrier separating realms between them.

Aphelios, her Aphelios, was in there somewhere. Just as capable of laughter and sadness, smiles and rage, as he was before. Yet she would never see him again. For the only way to be together now was through the Noctum. She could see and talk to her brother, but only the quiet emotionless version. Only when they were apart, and he was unburdened, could he feel. Yet would he even want to? Alune’s thoughts strayed back to their childhood when they were apart. When she in prayers or in lessons, Aphelios would make sure to stay away from the other children as much as possible. He didn’t want to interact with them if he could help it. All his attention, his chatter, his smiles, were reserved for her and her alone. So now he was an adult, an adult who could only feel in her absence, would he want to? Could he learn to smile for another? To talk to those around him after spending so many of his formative years alone if not with her?

Alune didn’t know.

And she didn’t like not knowing. She was supposed to know everything. Her little glimpses into the future told her of great darknesses, of sinking ships and rising mists. Of plans made and plots foiled, but nothing to do with Aphelios. Nothing of how he could cope without her, of a life where he didn’t have to rely on poison to reach her, one where he could be himself. She saw glimpses of her Aphelios when the poison wore off, but that was like the sun and moon meeting only at dusk. Fleeting instances where he could joke and tell her not to worry so much. Of course she would worry, she told him, she is his sister. It is her job to worry.

It is her job to know.

Even when she doesn’t.


End file.
